


Body Heat

by twisting_vine_x



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Fever, Lake-town, M/M, Mirkwood, Sick!Thorin, cuddle!fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-19
Updated: 2013-07-19
Packaged: 2017-12-20 16:52:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,455
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/889605
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/twisting_vine_x/pseuds/twisting_vine_x
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A/N #1: Takes place right after the end of the first movie. Loosely follows canon after that.<br/>A/N #2: Written for this prompt: “Dwarven men tend to be a lot more physical with their other male friends than Hobbits are in general or the rather solitary Mr. Baggins in particular. Could be either smut or cuddle fic.”</p><p>Summary: <i>Thorin’s lips have turned up a bit at the edges – an exhausted smile, yes, but a smile, nevertheless – and his voice is as gentle as that day up on the cliff, and Bilbo is suddenly very aware of the fact that, if not for the metal bars in between them, he might be trying to kiss Thorin right now.</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	Body Heat

**Author's Note:**

  * For [MangoTea](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MangoTea/gifts).



By the time they make it down the cliff the eagles had left them on, Bilbo is achingly tired again.

Gandalf keeps mentioning their destination – _Beorn’s house_ – and describing it as a place of relative safety – an admirable attempt to keep up the company’s morale, it seems – but it’s still going to be a very long walk before they get there, and Bilbo hurts down to his very bones. Apparently, falling down a cliff and then fighting off wargs will do that to a hobbit, and even the lingering warmth from Thorin’s hug is only doing a partial job of keeping that ache away.

“Are you well, Master Baggins?”

As if summoned by the very thought, Thorin is suddenly beside him, leaning heavily on a stick. It’s enough to make Bilbo feel vaguely ashamed of himself – after all, he’s not the one who was chewed on by a warg – and he manages to paste on a smile, trying to ignore the way he wants to reach out and find some way to take Thorin’s pain away. Bilbo – for all that he may seem naïve in comparison to the well-traveled dwarves – is no tween, and he knows himself well enough to admit that his feelings towards are Thorin are not ones which would likely be well-received by the dwarven prince.

“I – yes, I am fine. You? Did Gandalf –”

“Gandalf has done what he can.”

“But – perhaps some rest –”

“The sooner we find lodgings, the sooner we all can rest.”

His voice is rough, as always, but there’s still that same gentleness that he’d displayed up on the cliff, and Bilbo can’t quite stop a flush when Thorin smiles at him and then claps him on the shoulder before he pushes past him to join Dwalin, somehow keeping pace with the other dwarf despite his injuries. For a moment, all Bilbo can do is stare at Thorin’s back, putting a hand up to his burning cheek – and then he becomes aware of Kili watching him from beside him, his lips quirked into a smirk that makes Bilbo more than a little uneasy, and he drops his hand and simply concentrates on simply putting one foot in front of the other. The sooner they get to – to – to this Beorn’s house – whoever he is – the sooner Bilbo can find some time alone, to get his thoughts back in order, and to try to banish the memory of that hug.

\- - -

For the next week, they rest.

Beorn, as it turns out, is more than a little terrifying – and, really, given Gandalf’s talk of _relative safety_ , Bilbo should have really been expecting that – but he provides them with free lodgings – complete with fresh food, warm baths, and comfortable beds to sleep in – so Bilbo does his best to set aside his unease. Then, about three days after their arrival, he overhears Gandalf telling Thorin that Beorn had been going out at night to hunt goblins, and that pretty much eases any of Bilbo’s lingering concerns. Even if Beorn might be terrifying, anyone who’s willing to hunt down the creatures that almost killed them is a friend of the company’s, in Bilbo’s opinion.

Indeed, over the course of their week there, the only real concern that Bilbo has – once he makes peace with the fact that their host can turn into a giant bear – is that the dwarves seem to be acting oddly.

At first, Bilbo thinks he’s imagining it. He’s watched Thorin and the other dwarves be affectionate with each other, but he’s never had any of that affection directed at him – has even, as times, felt more than a little excluded by the way nobody seemed keen to so much as rub shoulders with him – which is why he spends several days doing his best to figure out if he is, in fact, just imagining things. It starts with hands on his shoulders, and progresses to slaps on his back and arms fully wrapped around him while the dwarves are drinking, and even freer with their affections; and by the time they’re nearing the end of the week, it’s pretty clear that he’s not just imagining things. Ever since their experience with the wargs, it seems that all the dwarves – including Thorin – have decided to be more open with their affections, and to treat him more like one of their own. And normally Bilbo would be thrilled about this – about _finally_ starting to be part of the company –

If not for the way he blushes and stutters and goes all shaky whenever Thorin so much as brushes against him – let alone when he puts an arm across his shoulders, and pulls him in to tell him a dwarvish joke that Bilbo doesn’t get, but makes sure to laugh about anyway, because, _by the Shire, that’s Thorin’s arm around him;_ and Bilbo’s brain more or less deserts him whenever Thorin gets that close. It’s so many different kinds of horrible – to _want_ , so badly, and to not be able to touch the way he truly desires to – and he figures out pretty quickly that he really, _really_ needs to not be as affected by Thorin as he is. Really needs to get himself together before he makes a fool of himself. Because this is what the dwarves do – this is how they interact – and the fact that Bilbo’s been made part of that is amazing; and the last thing he wants to do is mess things up.

\- - -

By the time they make it to Mirkwood, Bilbo has pretty much forgotten his dilemma. They have much bigger things to think about, suddenly, and Bilbo loses the luxury of worrying about his feelings towards Thorin – at least until the elven king captures the rest of the company, and then all Bilbo has is far too much free time to think. It’s a miserable experience – being trapped in the king’s halls for weeks on end – and the only thing that eventually alleviates some of the misery is that he discovers that Thorin is being held there, too; and then Bilbo feels a bit like he’s grown wings – because even if Thorin is trapped, that means that he’s at least alive, and Bilbo tries not to think too hard about how the knowledge makes him sick with relief. He waits, then – bides his time, and learns the guards’ schedules – and when he finally has the chance to go to Thorin, he takes it.

\- - -

In the end, it’s simple enough. The guards aren’t always there – what with the metal bars keeping Thorin imprisoned, there’s really no need – and when they both disappear one evening, Bilbo sneaks across the room as quietly as he can, until he’s standing in front of the prison door. Thorin looks dreadful – pale and shaky and underfed, and Bilbo has a moment of utter fury over what the elves have done to him – but he bites it down, and waits until he’s calm – his anger won’t help any of them – before he takes the ring off, and slides it into his pocket. Thorin’s eyes are closed – he’s too tense to be sleeping, though – and Bilbo takes a steadying breath before he speaks.

“Thorin.”

It’s rough and scratchy sounding – it comes to him, distantly, that he hasn’t spoken in weeks – and then he swallows hard when Thorin’s eyes fly open. For a second, they just stare at each other – and then Thorin’s mouth literally drops open, and he scrambles up onto his knees and puts his hands around the bars, looking like he wants to speak, but can’t. It takes everything Bilbo has to not put his hands on Thorin’s – settles, instead, for simply shrugging a little helplessly, as Thorin just continues to stare at him.

“I – yes. Hello. I know this might be a bit of a shock –”

“This is impossible. I am going mad.”

“ _No_ , gods – Thorin, I’m real. I’m real, and I’m here. Alright?”

And Bilbo – in that moment, then, he throws sanity away and puts his hands on Thorin’s, the way he desperately wants to; because Thorin looks like he’s about to keep arguing, and the last thing they need is for the leader of the company to be questioning his sanity. For a moment longer, Thorin simply stares at him – and then his eyes drop down to Bilbo’s hands, and Bilbo concentrates on keeping his breathing steady as Thorin’s fingers curl into his, linking their hands together before he looks up at Bilbo again, still looking stunned, but – there’s hope there, at least, and Bilbo can’t stop a smile. Squeezes Thorin’s fingers a bit tighter, and tries to keep his voice steady.

“The others are all here, too. They’re alive. Underfed and ornery, perhaps – but alive. And –”

“That is – thank you. I needed – thank you. More than I can say. That brings me hope, again.”

“I – yes, I rather thought –”

“And it is most excellent to see you, Master Baggins.”

Thorin’s lips have turned up a bit at the edges – an exhausted smile, yes, but a smile, nevertheless – and his voice is as gentle as that day up on the cliff, _I have never been more wrong, in all my life_ , and Bilbo is suddenly very aware of the fact that, if not for the metal bars in between them, he might be trying to kiss Thorin right now. Manages another shaky smile of his own, somehow, and tries to speak over how quickly is heart is slamming up against his ribs.

“It’s good to see you, too. And I – give me time. I’ll find a way to get you out. You and the others, I’ll –”

He cuts himself off even as Thorin squeezes his hands in warning, the sound of voices suddenly coming down the hallway; and then Bilbo yanks his hands free, slips his ring on, and then scampers over to the side of the room, where nobody will bump into him. Inside the prison cell, Thorin looks like he’s been hit in the face, shock written across every inch of him – and then, incredibly, he starts to laugh. It’s not an unpleasant sound, either – it’s genuine, and it makes Bilbo’s own lips turn up into a smile; his stomach tightening in a way that feels good, somehow – but it still seems to disconcert the elven guards, who are both frowning when they walk in the room.

“Something amusing, dwarf?”

Thorin’s only response is to ignore them both, his laughter already dying away, but his lips still pulled up into a grin – and then he sits down against the prison wall and rests his hands in his lap, looking much more content than he had before Bilbo had come to him – and even as the elves are busy still frowning at each other, Bilbo scampers around them and makes it out into the hallway, still not bothering to smother his own grin. It’s still far from an ideal situation – the dwarves are all still beyond bars, of course, and Bilbo still doesn’t know how he’s going to free them – but Thorin, apparently, can see some humour in Bilbo scampering around right under the king’s nose; and it’s enough to make Bilbo feel lighter than he has in weeks.

\- - -

In the end, the plan with the wine barrels isn’t perfect – as demonstrated by the fact that most of the dwarves are half-drowned by the time they make it to Lake-town – but it does the job; and when Thorin announces his presence at the town, and the dwarves are welcomed as heroes, of a sort – well. Bilbo is more than content to fade away into the background, and to let the dwarves have their moment – but it seems, amazingly, that that’s not what the rest of the company wishes.

Their first week in Lake-town is a blur of drinking and dancing and singing and – amazingly – the dwarves being even _more_ affectionate than before they’d been captured, and Bilbo gradually realizes that he’s genuinely enjoying himself. That now, what with the giant spiders and the wine barrels, he’s truly earned his place, more than even before – and if that newfound belonging comes complete with Fili and Kili hanging off him, then Bilbo really can’t complain. Even Dwalin seems less stern than before, and – if not for one problem – Bilbo would be happy – but Thorin, for whatever reason, seems to draw away from him, in a way he doesn’t seem to do with the rest of the company – and Bilbo has no idea why.

The arms around his shoulders stop, and there are no more moments with just the two of them, and Thorin even stops smiling at him as much as he had been – and Bilbo honestly has no idea what he’s done wrong. All he knows is that, given the way he feels all torn up inside about it, there’s a damn good chance that what he feels for Thorin has progressed far beyond a stupid crush; and Bilbo really needs to get over himself, before he says or does something that spoils absolutely everything.

\- - -

Of course, the _getting over himself_ plan derails rather spectacularly when – about two weeks after they arrive in Laketown – Thorin ends up sick to the point of being nearly bedridden. It’s something he can hide from most of the town – he still makes himself get up and do his rounds, talking to people and gathering support and allies – but as soon as he makes it back to the company’s quarters, he falls back under the covers like a felled tree, coughing and shivering and looking generally miserable – and Bilbo, of course, volunteers to look after him. While it’s not that he wouldn’t trust the dwarves to do it – Balin, especially, would be well-suited for the task – he also knows that he’s going to feel much better about the situation if he can actually do something to help; and even if that something is sitting at Thorin’s bed while he tosses with fever, making sure he gets plenty of liquids and keeps down the local healer’s medicine, it’s still better than nothing –

Up until Thorin’s fever gets worse, at least. Because Bilbo – having fallen asleep in his chair – wakes up to find Thorin muttering to himself, tossing about on the small bed, his skin sheened with sweat; and Bilbo can’t remember the last time he’s felt so helpless. His mother had been a wise woman – had told him, time and again, whenever anyone was sick, that a fever was the body’s way of fighting off infection – but he knows that there’s also a point where the fever itself becomes dangerous; and he hates that all he can do is put a cold cloth on Thorin’s forehead and take his hand. He knows, distantly, that he probably shouldn’t touch him like this – and not because he’s afraid of catching something himself; he’s always been one of the most illness-resilient hobbits in The Shire – but he can’t seem to help himself, somehow; especially once he realizes that the touch seems to bring Thorin some comfort. He settles a little bit on the bed, at least; and all Bilbo can do is hold on to his hand, close his eyes, and hope that the morning brings an improvement.

\- - -

The morning, when it comes, does not necessarily bring about an improvement. In fact, Bilbo – despite the muttered protests from Thorin – hardens his heart and pulls the blanket clean off, leaving Thorin shivering on top of the sheets. It’s not something he’d wanted to do, but he’s no longer sure if the fever is a good or a bad thing, and he’s not willing to take a chance, no matter how miserable Thorin looks without the blanket. Bilbo has the thought, distantly, that it’s a good thing that nobody else is here to see this – Thorin would hate that, undoubtedly – and then he’s swallowing hard and trying to just breathe when Thorin’s eyes open to focus on him. He still doesn’t seem to be completely there, but it’s the most coherent he’s looked in days, and Bilbo feels something inside him unlock a bit, bringing a shaky smile to his face that he’s helpless to stop.

“Feeling any better?”

And Thorin – just stares at him for a moment, looking absolutely exhausted, before a shiver racks his entire body, and he wraps his arms around himself, his gaze going to the blanket on the chair. For a moment, Bilbo wavers – because Thorin looks hurt, almost, like Bilbo has personally betrayed him; and seeing that kind of expression on the prince’s face is nearly enough to make Bilbo reconsider – and then he hardens his heart further, and sits down on top of the blanket, putting his hands on the sheets beside Thorin. It’s damn close to actually touching him, but Bilbo can’t quite bring himself to care.

“Your fever is too high. At this rate, I’ll have to call for an ice bath.”

“Please d-don’t.”

Thorin’s voice sounds rather shredded, and his teeth are knocking together in a way that makes Bilbo wince, and all he can do is scoot a little bit closer on the chair, wishing there was some way to take some of the pain away. Before he can try to say anything, though, Thorin shivers again, and curls a bit further in on himself, as though trying to cling on to whatever body heat he can.

“You are a r-rather merciless hobbit, Master Baggins.”

“I – if this will help you get better –”

“I understand-d. But that does not-t mean that I like it.”

And that – that sounds more like the Thorin that Bilbo knows – a little bit grumpy, in a way that should probably not be as endearing as it is – and he drops his eyes as a wave of nearly crushing affection rocks through him. Can’t quite breathe for a second. When he looks up again, Thorin’s face has taken on a softer expression, and – incredibly – there’s a small smile pulling at his lips.

“I was once – very sick-k, as a very, very young d-dwarf. The f-fever nearly killed me. The only heat Balin would allow was that which came f-from himself – we shared a cot, until I was well.”

That smile is still there – and Bilbo is no longer sure about Thorin’s coherency, because that is definitely not the sort of story that Thorin would normally tell – but his voice is fond, and it’s clear that he’s thinking about years long past, and Bilbo can’t think of what to say. Just watches Thorin until Thorin eventually sighs and closes his eyes, seeming to sink a little bit further into the bed.

“I wonder if h-he would do the same now. It seems as though that was a d-different life.”

“I could find him, if you wish. I believe he’s in a meeting with the mayor, but –”

“Do not trouble yourself, Master Hobbit. I will be q-quite fine.”

Even as he finishes speaking, though, a new shiver has him shaking, and he squeezes his eyes shut a bit tighter and curls in closer on himself – and Bilbo, against all good judgement, is suddenly fighting off an idea that’s likely to get him kicked out. Thorin – for all that he’s letting himself be vulnerable, now, when he has no other choice – has clearly been pulling away from him, over the last few weeks, and there’s no reason for Bilbo to believe that any kind of extended physical contact with Thorin could be welcome – but the idea is almost out of his mouth, nevertheless. And while he won’t lie to himself and pretend that it wouldn’t be nice to be close to Thorin, it’s more to do with the fact that watching Thorin shake is making Bilbo physically hurt; and when Thorin starts making a visible effort to hold in his shivers – biting down on his lip, even – something inside Bilbo seems to pull too tight, and he speaks before he can stop himself.

“If you wish for body warmth, I am happy to oblige.”

His own words hit him like a punch to the stomach – gods, what is he thinking? – and he tries to keep his expression as calm as possible when Thorin goes still, and then opens his eyes to frown at him, the expression lacking most of its usual ferocity under the weight of his fever. For a moment, neither of them says anything – and Bilbo’s just about to find some way to backtrack, some way to apologize for so very much overstepping his boundaries – gods, Thorin is a _dwarven prince_ – when Thorin drops his eyes and ends up staring at somewhere around Bilbo’s shoulder.

“I do not – wish to m-make you sick.”

And that – that is not a refusal. That is Thorin thinking of refusing for Bilbo’s sake, and Bilbo gets to his feet, knowing that he shouldn’t let himself touch, but suddenly unable to care. If he can make Thorin feel a bit better, then that’s all the matters.

“I’ve been sitting with you for three days. Not even a hint of illness.”

For a moment, the air seems to still around Bilbo, as Thorin doesn’t say anything – and then Thorin nods, once, and moves over on the bed. It’s an invitation, clear as anything, and Bilbo – has to swallow hard before he takes it, somehow making his limbs work enough to get him on the bed, though he makes sure to not touch Thorin. Wants to, but needs to know what’s okay, and what isn’t.

“Is this –”

“You are hardly going to keep me warm f-from there, Master Hobbit.”

He sounds, to Bilbo’s ears, a little bit more ragged than before, and Bilbo carefully tamps down on that thought before it can run rampant – because there is no way that Thorin, prince of a dwarven kingdom, is interested in Bilbo. Shuffles a bit closer, at least – and then there’s a hand on his arm, and it takes everything he has to not squeak. Stares at Thorin as the prince seems to hesitate, until he moves forward until they’re pressed up against each other, lying on their stomachs, and touching from shoulder to knee; and Bilbo can feel the way Thorin’s shivering. For a moment, then, neither of them moves – Bilbo’s pretty sure he’s not even breathing – and then Thorin drops his hand back to the blanket and closes his eyes, and Bilbo quickly does the same, grateful for the chance to hide. He has no idea what’s happening here – no idea how he managed to offer this, or why Thorin chose to accept – but for now, nothing matters more than getting Thorin well; and Bilbo presses a bit closer, hoping desperately that, when they wake up again, Thorin’s fever will be broken.

\- - -

When Bilbo wakes up again, it’s a slow process.

He’s warm – not too warm, but just warm enough – and Thorin is pressed up close to his back, a hand resting on Bilbo’s hip. It’s enough to make Bilbo go still – enough to make him flush in a way that has nothing to do with their shared body heat – but that hand isn’t nearly as important as the fact that – thank gods – Thorin’s no longer shivering. Is, in fact, huffing out steady little breaths against Bilbo’s hair, in a way that suggests he’s actually sleeping soundly, for the first time in days – and Bilbo carefully takes Thorin’s hand, and removes it from his hip. He’s quite content to stay exactly where he is – quite content to close his eyes and sleep some more – but if Thorin’s hands are going to be on him, then Bilbo wants them both to be awake for it. For now, though – all he can do is smile, as he lets himself drift off again, Thorin’s steady – healthier – breathing slowly pulling him back under again.

\- - -

When Bilbo wakes for a second time, he’s rolled onto his other side, and Thorin is staring at him – and Bilbo goes very, very still. Can barely even breathe. Realizes, distantly, that he’s probably long passed the point where it would be appropriate to look away – but Thorin isn’t moving, either. Isn’t looking away – is still staring at him, his expression completely unreadable – and Bilbo fights the urge to squirm. Does his best to focus on what’s important – on the way Thorin’s skin is no longer flushed.

“Better, then?”

“Much, I believe.”

“I – good. That’s – I’m glad. I –”

“Bilbo.”

And Bilbo just – stops trying to speak. Because Thorin’s voice is low and rough, and he looks almost confused – staring at Bilbo as though he’s trying to figure something out – and Bilbo is pretty sure that he’s doing a poor job of hiding his reaction to being so close to Thorin. Can feel the way his skin is flushing, and knows his want has to be written all over his face – and then Thorin puts a hand on his chest, and all pretenses crash down, and all Bilbo can do is close his eyes. Can feel the way his heartbeat’s kicking up under the press of Thorin’s hand.

“So I’m not imagining this, then.”

Thorin’s voice is even lower, now, and all Bilbo can do is swallow, hard, as he tries to catch his breath. Manages to get some oxygen into his lungs, but doesn`t manage to get his eyes open again.

“I – no, not imagining – and I want – I – you. I want you.”

“Bilbo –”

“You became – friendlier. After the wargs. And I – enjoyed it. Very much so. And then you – it seemed like you were pulling away, again, and I thought you were – displeased with me, or –”

“I thought you would never return my regard. It seemed prudent to try to distance myself.”

And that – the very notion is so ridiculous that it makes Bilbo get his eyes open. Gives him the courage to look at Thorin, again, with so little space in between them – and then Thorin’s hand slides up to rest on is collarbone, and he stares at Bilbo for a moment longer before he leans in to press an almost chaste kiss against his lips – and when he pulls back again, all Bilbo can do is smile at him, his chest going all tight in a way that feels good. He might not know exactly what Thorin wants, here, but Thorin is looking just as uncertain as Bilbo feels – his expression some mixture of hesitation and something that looks like hope – and Bilbo lets that shared uncertainty give him the courage to move him a bit closer. Smiles even wider - feels like something in his stomach is taking flight - when Thorin's response is a small smile of is own, and then Bilbo closes his eyes again as Thorin wraps his arms around him pulls him in close.


End file.
